Vanessa Marcil stood in awe not only at the beauty before her, but also the audacity that Charisma was exhibiting. This was no warm-up routine, but an out-and-out bump and grind for attention. Vanessa scanned the audience and could see that Charisma was certainly a success on that score. She tried to take her eyes off the show and concentrate on the matter at hand, getting herself ready. The WB-Fox series was tied at two with four matches left in the initial round. It was clear to Vanessa that this was a key match, especially with the WB taking the last two. She was the designated stopper and it wasn't going to be easy. She glanced over again - Charisma now on the mat spreading her legs as wide as she could, grinning slyly at the crowd.

Vanessa squatted in a corner considering taking Charisma up on the opening she had provided. Instead, she sat down and waited for the show to conclude. The raven-haired lovely was dressed in an odd sort of GI motif. A camouflage belly shirt with the words 'Secret Weapon' stenciled in pink clung tightly to her pert contours, while a pair of olive drab shorts looked anything but drab, rolled up snugly against the tight curve of Vanessa's gluteus. Seated as she was, they rode even higher and as she got up from the mat - having seen enough of Charisma's act - she tugged them back into place and moved toward her opponent. Vanessa planted herself directly in front of Charisma and started gyrating passionately to the heavy backbeat pulsing through the sound system. "Now, it's your turn to watch," Vanessa snapped, wiggling her taut, little ass in Charisma's face.

Unfortunately for Vanessa, the brunette in the fishnet wasn't one for restraint and she brought her right arm up into Vanessa's crotch, the blow bringing a simultaneous "ooooh" from both Vanessa and the crowd. The 90210 star dropped to her knees clutching at her bruised womanhood, finally falling on her face from a kick in the back by Charisma, who then grabbed a handful of Vanessa's cropped ebony tresses and pulled her back to her feet.

"You disturbed my performance, bitch."

SLAP...

The echo rang throughout the arena as Charisma hit Vanessa with a backhand to the cheek that swung her sideways.

"Ask Sarah, it's best not to do that."

SLAP...

this time an open forehand to the opposite jawline. Vanessa took a wild swing, but Charisma easily ducked it and appeared to be going for an encore performance of her low blow. Instead, in a surprising display of power she reached between Vanessa's legs, scooping up the smaller girl and quickly jerking her up behind her finally laying her precariously across her shoulders. Charisma threw one arm over Vanessa's neck and the other over both legs, locking her in place and bending her back into an excruciating bow.

Vanessa screamed for mercy, but Charisma's only response was to shake her brutally up and down, stretching her spine to the breaking point. Finally, feeling her own neck tiring from the strain of Vanessa's bodyweight, Charisma shifted and threw the weakly wriggling figure from behind her neck to over her right shoulder, Vanessa's back arched at an intolerable angle by Charisma's shoulderblade. Again, she shook her victim violently. Bouncing at Charisma's whim, trapped in the backbreaker and without hope, Vanessa began sobbing uncontrollably as the pressure mounted. Vanessa's face became a deep crimson as the blood rushed to her head, tears racing down over her eyebrow and flowing into her dangling hair.

Charisma appeared ready to drop off her cargo, but where? She moved back to the ropes and flung one of the black-haired beauty's legs over the top.

"If you only knew," Charisma said, smiling from ear to ear.

She dumped Vanessa off her shoulder into a mind-altering straddle of the top rope, her dark brown eyes jumping out, her cunt racked with intense pain. But Charisma was far from done. She steadied Vanessa before she could slide off to one side and bring her anguish to a temporary end. Instead, balancing Vanessa atop the rope, she placed one hand on top of her shoulders and the other under the top cable, and then the fun began. First pushing Vanessa down, then pulling the rope up, time after time, giving her a very unwelcome ride. Vanessa clutched at her throbbing pussy, almost unable to breathe from the extraordinary agony. Finally, she was able to loosen Charisma's grip and fall to the mat, the left side of her face smashing against the canvas, her body rolling into a quivering ball.

Charisma stretched down and relieved Vanessa of her shirt without a struggle, throwing it at Marcil's teammates in the crowd.

"There's your secret weapon. I'd ask for your damn money back."

Charisma grabbed a leg, but Vanessa kicked it free.

"Still a little life in you, huh?"

Charisma stomped her in the back bringing a whimper. Charisma forced Vanessa to her feet and threw her toward the far turnbuckle only to have her collapse before making it that far, toppling awkwardly onto the mat. Charisma picked her up again.

"Can't you do anything right."

She tossed Vanessa over her shoulder, this time in a fireman's carry and seated her on the top turnbuckle. Charisma followed her up, grabbing her in a bearhug, which she quickly transformed into a devastating belly-to-belly suplex off the middle rope. Vanessa bounced a foot off the mat, her spectacular tanned bosom finally swaying to a stop moments after the rest of her lay still. Charisma climbs the opposite turnbuckles to acknowledge the crowd and they respond en masse to her great delight. Turning back to the stirring Vanessa, she measures her next attack. Considering her well within range, Charisma launches backwards, her creamy calves, thighs, and butt cheeks straining against the nylon containing them, her ass aimed directly at Vanessa's rolling eyes. But between her and her target, the flash of a foot that separates Charisma's cheeks and drives deep below. The stunned brunette screams "AWWWOH" and falls to the mat as if shot, hyperventilating, a line of spittle slowly oozing from the corner of her lips, her mouth frozen in an 'O'.

Both women twist on the mat in agony. However, it is Vanessa that finally regains enough composure to roll over on top of Charisma, unable to do anything but throw herself on top for the one-two-thr...Charisma rolls to the side and out from underneath - staying alive for the moment. Vanessa struggles to her feet still rubbing her pussy with one hand and her back with the other. She stomps on Charisma's belly.

"Ohhnooumph." Charisma raises her arms in defense, but Vanessa's legs break through the resistance and land time after time, driving deeply into Charisma's midsection. "Ohhummph."

Confidence growing, Vanessa brings Charisma to her knees and places her head between her thighs, then grabbing her around the waist tries to lift her up into a piledriver position. However halfway up, her ravaged back gives way and she falls forward, providence providing an effective faceslam on Charisma that leaves her nearly motionless, her arms splayed to her sides. Vanessa tries to get to her feet, but falls beside Charisma. Instead, she slides her sweat-slickened thighs around Charisma's head, maneuvering her face until it's planted firmly and deeply into Vanessa's shorts, saturated with perspiration. Vanessa's long, tan limbs quickly swallowed up the look of horror on Charisma's face. Still she struggles gamely, trying - and failing - to pry herself loose.

As Vanessa continued to squeeze the life out of her adversary, she grasped Charisma's bikini top at the cleft of her bosom and yanked it free, swinging it around like a trophy. Opening a new front of attack, she mauled Charisma's left tit ruthlessly - pulling and twisting - Charisma's screams unable to escape Vanessa's encasing thighs. She pinched at the nipple - hard and erect - pulling it away from the aureole, rolling it between her fingers when it could stretch no longer. Vanessa could feel Charisma scream against her leg more than her ears could hear it, a breath of air escaping from between her legs followed by a gentle sucking, Charisma still trying to take in air - any air.

With oxygen becoming more and more precious, Charisma gave up on the futile attempt at prying apart Vanessa's legs. She became less logical and more primal, grabbing at anything and everything, her arms flailing wildly, finally finding a target. Seizing the waistband of Vanessa's briefs she tore them down over her rounded cheeks, digging her nails into the soft flesh, streaks of red appearing as she raked down over the bronzed buttocks. And suddenly light appeared for Charisma. Again, she ripped into the tender backside with her talons - more light and air, she sucked it in with huge gulps. She was free. Dizzily, she turned and fell out from between Vanessa's legs, crawling away as Vanessa cursed at her while surveying the damage - the skin unbroken, but several nasty welts tracing the tracks laid by Charisma's claws.

Both women struggled to their feet; surprisingly Charisma made it there first, rushing at the 90210 star from behind. Clamping her arm around the back of Vanessa's neck, she continued two more steps forward bringing Vanessa along for the ride before depositing her head to the canvas with a bulldog. Vanessa's forehead bounced off the mat with a sickening thud, but payback was far from complete. Picking up Vanessa, she threw her into the ropes, meeting her in the center of the ring with a foot to the belly that staggered Vanessa, lowering her head. Taking advantage, Charisma places her in a firm embrace, forcing Vanessa's face into her golden globes. "This is how you smother someone, at least if you've got tits." Vanessa swayed back and forth struggling to break free, finally entangling one leg around Charisma's. She lurched forward and both women tumbled to the canvas.

Charisma scrambled for position and found her fishnets locked around Vanessa's taut midriff. She squeezed with all her strength, applying incredible pressure, as well as rubbing the coarse material against the tawny skin. Vanessa screamed - the material acting like sandpaper against her belly and breasts - scraping and scouring the soft skin raw. Vanessa tore at the material on one leg ripping a section away at the calf, but the powerful thighs of Charisma continued to squeeze and grind away, the grinding getting so heavy that Charisma felt she might burst into orgasm from the friction. Not wanting to give Vanessa the satisfaction, she releases her scissors and straddles the whimpering girl's midsection, slowly moving up her body.

"Wait till I put my fishnets around your face, it'll look like a 3rd grade class thought your face was construction paper. You won't have a career left," Charisma said with a beaming grin. "Not one in front of the camera."

By now Charisma was riding up near Vanessa's shoulders and she likely could have cinched Vanessa in a classic schoolgirl pin, but she aimed to be good to her word. Vanessa tried unsuccessfully to buck Charisma off, however in the process, she was able to matchbook her body and bring her right foot crashing into the back of Charisma's neck.

As she tumbled over, Vanessa scrambled away in the opposite direction picking up the piece of fishnet material she had ripped from Charisma's calf. Seeing Charisma begin to turn back toward her, Vanessa impulsively bolted, burying her head for a spear, but Charisma braced herself and all the smaller girl could muster was forcing her back a few steps. Charisma now beat viciously on Vanessa's already weakened back, pummeling her with both fists.

Vanessa slumped - seemingly from the beating - but suddenly shot upright bringing Charisma off her feet and dropping her backward, the back of her neck snapping hard on impact with the middle rope. Vanessa now pulled out the fishnet fabric she had placed in her waistband. Grapevining herself behind the prone Charisma, she wrapped it tightly around her neck. Charisma arms fluttered helplessly, her breasts heaving furiously, but it was painfully obvious - the spider was now caught with her own web. After fifteen seconds, her arms fell limp and eyelids fluttered to a close. Vanessa let Charisma fall lifelessly to the mat and covered her for a quick three-count and the win.

Unsatisfied, Vanessa tugged violently at Charisma's tool of torture. Unable to remove it via her toes, she proceeded to the waistline and rolled the combo g-string and full-length stockings off over her ass and down her legs like rolling a snowball down a hill, leaving Charisma naked and unashamed, of course unconscious also entered into the equation.

Now in possession of what had proven to be quite a weapon, Vanessa sat down next to Charisma's right leg and stretched it out and away from her crotch, slipping the garment around the inner thigh and gently resting it on Charisma's pubic mound. Turning Charisma on her side, Vanessa grabbed both ends and began pulling the garment in harsh tugs from one side to the other, cruelly ripping into the tender pussy, wrenching out small tufts of hair, bringing Charisma back in a shrieking panic, grasping at her cunt. Vanessa gave one last fierce tug that ran like steel wool across Charisma's fragile lips and got up to look on her defeated adversary, still moaning in agony.

"Keep it to yourself," Vanessa exclaimed, and she stuffed the crotch of the costume into the bawling Charisma's mouth. Vanessa flashed an exhausted smile. "Next time, wear satin."
****
Match #6: Michelle Williams vs. Calista Flockhart by Hawkeye 13-Jan-00

Michelle stood in the dressing room gazing into a full-length mirror. If it had been anyone else, she would have laughed uproariously. Unfortunately, it was not anyone else, though neither was it any Michelle she'd ever seen before. What was the idea behind this? Surely, Katie had something to do with it. Michelle peeked through several strands of her tousled blonde locks, shaking her head. A heavily embroidered white corset constrained her upper torso, pushing her substantial, milky-white breasts skyward, making them even more impressive, her cleavage nearly high enough to choke her. She bounced in place in front of the mirror to see how secure she was battened down. The material held, but God was she going to put on a show. The outfit wasn't her, it probably wasn't anyone from this century, but she could understand. After all, she was facing Calista Flockhart and the match figured to be over in short order. The fans needed something to make them feel they'd spent their money wisely.

Her hands - themselves adorned with white lace fingerless gloves - found one of the white silk stockings lying on a bench next to her and Michelle slipped it on, stretching it to just over her knee, then strapping it to a garter that tightly traced its way up her taut, ivory thigh. Finally, she locked it in place by binding the other end to a catch on her white satin panties. Michelle donned the opposite stocking in similar fashion. And last but not least - Oh my God - a pink and white parasol. They were really going over the top with this shit. She grabbed it; so as to get the full effect. Gawking in the mirror, she couldn't contain a giggle. Ridiculous she thought, on the other hand she did look damn good and people would remember this match even if the action was going to be one-sided.

Michelle made her way ringside, very much aware of the eyes of the crowd upon her. As she struggled up onto the apron and through the ropes, she could already tell the outfit wasn't meant for any type of athletic competition. Even now, she had to yank her eye-catching attire back up and into place. While throwing the parasol into her corner, she glanced down at Katie gleefully smirking at her co-star and rival. They had rarely gotten along and Katie was enjoying this a little too much for Michelle's liking. But now she was committed and if she wanted to join Katie in the second round - a must for her ego - she'd have to make due. And to be honest, facing Calista she hardly felt anxious.

As if to confirm her feelings, Calista was making her way down the aisle to what sounded to Michelle as if it might be laughter and as she reached the ring, Michelle couldn't help but join in. The lean brunette had worn a tight, white tanktop and oversized red boxing shorts, pretty standard, but she had pulled the tights up to a point where the waistband now stretched directly beneath her diminutive breasts. Apparently believing there was no hitting below the belt, she had rode the trunks up as far as they could go. But the real topper was the padded, red protective headwear she slipped on while making her way through the ropes and into the ring. The gear made it appear that Calista was entering herself in the Golden Gloves not a free-for-all, anything-goes wrestling match. After finally strapping it into place, she sidled over to her corner where a waiting attendant handed her a mouthpiece, which she quickly chomped into place.

Michelle stood on in bemusement, unsure what to make of these antics, but the ref knew and walked over to Calista.

"Sorry Ms. Flockhart, but you'll have to give up the protection."

The referee moved toward her to help her off with the cushioning. Calista shoved his arms away.

"Hey, my lawyers say there's nothing in the rules that says I can't wear this, so back up peon."

"Yeah," the ref responded, "well there ain't no written rule about bringing guns in either, but we don't allow that."

"NMP," Calista said in a sour, arrogant tone.

The ref stared silently, a quizzical look on his face.

"NMP - Not my problem, you dolt," Calista added.

Michelle broke in, "Look, it doesn't really matter. Let's just get on with it, this thing is starting to itch."

She reached her right arm behind her to get some relief, her breast surged upward almost escaping its confinement. She smiled at Calista.

"Whoops, gotta watch that."

Calista looked down at her chest, turned in a huff, and began shadowboxing in her corner.

At the bell, she quickly turned and met Michelle in the middle of the ring, popping out several left jabs that missed their mark. The two began wheeling around the ring, Michelle waiting for the right moment to take this stick figure apart. Another jab by Calista, another miss, but she was keeping Michelle at bay.

Another jab, POP...Calista's fist landed on Michelle's chin, staggering her back.

Calista looking at her hand in pain.

Michelle stepped at her again - enough was enough.

POP...Calista didn't have time to think about what she meant to do, she just did it and did it effectively.

This time catching Michelle on the bridge of the nose.

Michelle retreated a step and wrinkled her upturned nose before swiping at it with her thumb - no blood. Calista, however, did not follow-up on her success, again she waited for Michelle to close and the young blonde obliged, this time bobbing her head to provide a moving target.

Yet again, Calista popped out another jab but this time Michelle watched it whip on past. She planted her left foot only to slide on the silk that encased it, but still landed a sidekick with something behind it to Calista's breadbasket that sent her backpedaling.

Immediately, the wisp of a woman began barking, "Under the belt...UNDER...THE...BELT."

Michelle smiled, it didn't take a genius to see that coming.

Calista continued to berate the ref, but he chose to ignore her pleas. In the meanwhile, Michelle stepped toward the distracted brunette and landed a stiff forearm to the vicinity of her jaw that brought the argument to an end as she fell backwards, only staying upright by catching the ropes. Still, Calista shook off the blow in short order and was quickly dancing around the ring, the headgear obviously providing more help than Michelle had surmised.

Michelle cut the ring in half and soon had Calista backing into a corner, alternately pumping one foot then another into the air to keep the aggressive teen off of her. Waiting like a cat, Michelle finally snatched a leg and lifted it high then surging forward, raised a knee into Calista's crotch, a strange 'THWAP' coming from the blow. Michelle stepped back to survey the damage and as she did, Calista pushed her further away. While Calista looked to be in pain, she was hardly hobbled, struggling along the side of the ring, steadying herself with the aid of the top rope.

Michelle knew something was wrong. The contact felt all wrong, it was almost as if she had hit a turnbuckle instead of Calista's tender womanhood. Now, what was this bitch trying to pull?

"So you want to play games, huh," Michelle shouted, catching up with Calista. "We can do that. How about 'Around the World'."

Michelle grabbed Calista by her bony arm and threw her across the ring, her back landing with a thud against the opposite turnbuckle. She slumped to the mat, as Michelle looked on contentedly, waiting for her opponent to rise. Calista struggled to her feet and Michelle, who had gone into a three-point stance - much to the delight of the crowd - took off with a full head of steam.

But as she reached her intended target, Calista brought the wooden handle of a certain pink and white parasol up and underneath Michelle's chin, stopping her in her tracks with the blow. Michelle wobbled, her breasts swaying back and forth at the top of her corset like swells on the ocean, her legs swimming. Calista reared back bringing the otherwise delicate umbrella through again, connecting with Michelle's chin, sending her sprawling to the mat - spread-eagled - the handle of the parasol breaking off in Calista's hands.

Hurriedly, she climbs to the top turnbuckle, nearly losing her balance. Turning and looking down, she measures the blonde beauty still splayed on the mat. She launches, and by luck or not, lands perfectly across the belly of Michelle, the air audibly rushing from her lungs.

"Oooomp."

The impact bounces Calista off Michelle's body, but she scrambles back on top and hooks a leg for the pin.

1-2...

Michelle grabs the bottom rope and pulls herself free and then out of the ring. Bent over and sucking in oxygen, Michelle walks around the outside, Calista too stunned by her near-victory to do anything but follow with her eyes. Seeing Katie in the second row, rolling her eyes and performing her patented little crooked smirk, Michelle saunters over and takes a half-hearted swing at her. Katie overreacts with a spastic jerk that almost lands her in the THIRD row. Now, it's Michelle's turn to smile, but it soon disappears as she gazes up at Calista in the ring and realizes just how close she came.

Michelle motions Calista away from the ropes and oddly she complies. She slides under the bottom rope and quickly vaults to her feet, her hair now wildly unkempt, but her seductive costume still close to pristine, much to the chagrin of a great deal of the audience.

Suddenly, wildly, Calista runs to the cables opposite Michelle catapulting herself toward her opponent. Screaming, she buries a shoulder and runs full force into Michelle. The blonde - with plenty of time to prepare - is nudged back a step or two and stands staring at Calista with a wide grin. Michelle shrugs. Unaccustomed to having a sizable advantage in strength, Michelle gleefully motions Calista to try again. Calista looks over Michelle head to toe.

"You're going to regret taking me for granted, you adolescent punk," Calista spit out almost unintelligibly through her mouthpiece.

She took off again on her boomerang track, quickly returning with bloodlust in her eyes. At the last second, Michelle lowered her head between the onrushing Calista's legs, caught her around the knees and lifted up, sending Calista first up, then over, then down - slamming hard on her back. Calista slapped the mat, partially out of pain but also frustration.

With Calista grounded, Michelle was quick to capitalize, dropping an elbow across Calista's temple. She took the blow with a wince but simply rolled away. As much as Michelle thought that the padding wouldn't deny the inevitable, it was certainly delaying it and she was becoming evermore impatient. Diving for Calista's back, she overestimated and slid right over, coming to a stop directly in front of the lean, mean fightin' machine. Well, she was lean anyway and she quickly gained an advantage.

With both women scrambling to their feet, Calista grabbed Michelle from behind, throwing her left arm around Michelle's neck while digging the knuckle of her right index finger into a tender spot directly below Michelle's ear and at the back of her jaw.

Michelle grimaced as Calista forced in deeper, the nerve hold quickly causing her eyes to bulge, the numbing pain quickly circulating out from its source. But as effective as the hold was, Calista didn't have the ability - or perhaps more simply, the strength - to hold a dominant position for long. Michelle broke away, made a lightning move to the left and behind, taking Calista's left arm with her. Cinching up an arm bar, she snaked her leg around Calista's and brought her hard to the mat with a Russian legsweep, using Calista's own bodyweight to slam viciously on her arm. A split second after impact, Calista shrieked and rolled to the side, her arm lying limp at her side. Michelle's pat diagnoses; maybe a shoulder separation, but a hyperextension, at least.

The young blonde stood at ease - her hands locked behind her waist - staring at Calista, who was trying to move as little as possible so as not to jar her damaged joint.

"Unable to defend yourself," Michelle said. "Hell, damn near unable to move. I really wouldn't want to be you right now."

She put a finger to her temple.

"Well, I'd never want to be you, but jeez now especially."

Michelle shook her head as solemnly as she could manage, the slightest hint of a smirk in the corner of her mouth giving her away. Then she dropped a pointed knee into Calista's crotch.

"THWAP."

There it was again, that noise. And Calista still seemed more worried about her arm. Time for a little sleuthing, Nancy Drew, she thought. Michelle seized Calista's shorts at the waistband - still nearly up to her breastline - and yanked down. The trunks slid effortlessly down over Calista's nearly non-existent hips and to the mat, revealing a pair of dainty but appetizing thighs, divided by a thick piece of foam rubber molded specifically to protect Calista's bread and butter.

"Shit, I knew it," Michelle roared as she took hold of the padding and jerked.

Calista kicked her arm away and slithered on her back to the corner, the padding now barely attached and dragging behind her. After a moment of trying to stuff it uncomfortably back into place, Calista ripped it away and threw it into the crowd, undoubtedly to be auctioned off on Ebay in the near future.

Calista stood in the corner, her red g-string allowing the display of her premium feature; her supple, slender, if not powerful legs. Her shoulder continued to throb. She could now move it up to about 45 degrees, but any farther and the incredible bolts of pain flashed again. As Michelle slowly approached - stalking her prey - Calista managed a few weak kicks to keep Michelle at a distance, but the young blonde simply caught Calista by an ankle and hauled her - hopping on one foot - to the middle of the ring.

Michelle then swung her arm between Calista's legs, scooped up the bantamweight and slammed her, Michelle's own body following behind to drive her more forcefully into the mat. Michelle sprang to her feet in celebration, as Calista writhed on the mat. The youngster knew the opportunity for her to perform power moves were few and far between and she relished the moment, leaping and spinning in place. Michelle moved to straddle the weakly squirming Calista above her thighs, kneeling on them tightly, sending left and right overhands into her midriff, so slight it was that Michelle half expected her fist to come out the other side.

"Hey Ally, my shots are above the belt NOW," she said sweetly, snapping Calista's g-string to prove her point while continuing to pound away.

Calista coughed and sputtered, her mouthpiece shot out by one vicious left, her flailing arms unable to ward off the assault until Michelle called it to a stop.

Michelle stood triumphantly over her defeated foe and examined her. Noticing Calista's g-string slightly off kilter - just for fun - she slid her five small silken toes underneath and began rubbing gently against Calista's mound, the gossamer running over her skin as if no more than a breeze. Calista broke into a coo that quickly descended into groans as Michelle increased the intensity of the strokes, one after another. Michelle giggled at Calista's inability to control herself.

Finally, removing her massaging digits, she stood Calista up against the ropes - nearly out on her feet - a messy discharge rolling slowly down her leg. Michelle landed one right after another into her cheek, as she held Calista fast with her left. With each shot, the loosened headgear began to swivel until the ear hole made its way around to the front of Calista's face, cutting her already blurred vision to near blindness.

Calista, unable to slide the headgear off with her one good arm continued to fight on, swinging wildly at the occasional, split-second sight of Michelle. Williams had easily outflanked Calista and came from behind punting her almost playfully in the crotch, coming away with a considerably moistened foot.

Spinning Calista around, Michelle mischievously took turns alternately tagging each of Calista's petite breasts, while ducking and weaving around the ineffectual return blows. Finally, one of Calista's scattershot punches landed squarely with Michelle's nose, backing her up. Michelle's face flushed in anger and she purposefully strode to the other side of the ring. Calista, now more desperate to locate Michelle than protect herself, removed her headgear just in time for Michelle to stick her with a brutal spear that sent one of Calista's Nikes flying off her left foot, the back of her head slamming hard and firm against the canvas.

Michelle dropped to her knees straddling her victim; Calista's vacant eyes blinking as consciousness tried to seep back in. Michelle would have none of it. Instead of unbuttoning her corset, she chose to slip it down over her exquisite alabaster bosom, but the tits jumped from their confinement rather than sliding out, such was the tightness of their bondage. Michelle crept down onto Calista's flesh in a full body pin that was good enough for the win, but the referee was far too distracted to count. Michelle positioned her chest a few inches over Calista's face, the sweat pouring down her neck and over her gleaming breasts, gathering at her hardened, swollen nipples.

The beads dropped lightly, first upon Calista's cheeks then into her gasping mouth and as Michelle dropped forward, into the wells of her eyes where they mixed with her tears. The exhausted brunette sobbed her surrender to no avail, unable to move a muscle. Michelle proceeded down, the delicate skin on skin contact causing her to quiver slightly, the soft, warm, enveloping flesh surrounding Calista's senses, her nipples pushing against Calista's eyelids. Then undulating down to cover her nose and mouth forcing Calista to sample some of Michelle's salty flavor before completely cutting her air supply and sending her to dreamland.

Michelle waited for the ref to check Calista, but he was still mesmerized by the spectacle. A stern command from Michelle brought him to the mat, lifting Calista's arm, once, twice, and thrice. Michelle jumped to her feet, her breasts bobbing. Michelle tucked each tit carefully back inside the bodice and ran her fingers back through her blonde locks.

"Time for you to step aside honey, your time's done," she said, staring down at the shell that was Calista.

Michelle touched her gently on the face with her silken toes, first one cheek - then turning her face - the other.

"Yep, you're done."

Score: WB-3 Fox-3

Next Match: Fox co-captain, Scream Queen Neve Campbell vs. One of the Charmed Ones from WB, Alyssa Milano.
****
Match #7: Neve Campbell vs. Alyssa Milano by Hawkeye 22-Jan-00

The two women stood against each other - chest to chest - both leaning into each other, trying to gain an advantage in leverage and more importantly - intimidation. As they forced against one another, Neve and Alyssa sent violent glares, Alyssa adding a nasty run of expletives, while the Canadian cutie sent her daggers silently, otherwise a picture of control. Neve backed away slightly only to step forward and chest bump Alyssa back a few steps, so much for control. The ref placed his body in between the women - good work if you can get it - and choosing Neve as the most reasonable, guided her back to her corner, hoping Alyssa would then retire to hers.

No doubt about it, this one was bound to get nasty. With the announcement of the Milano-Campbell matchup, everyone now knew there would be a war to end all wars in the 1st round finale, Shannen Doherty versus Tori Spelling. A match with that kind of emotion and history could go either way, so Neve felt especially eager to secure no worse than even footing for the next round.

Neve, however, could see she was in for no night at the opera herself. As Alyssa continued to curse like a sailor, Neve looked on, feigning amusement, but beginning to wonder.

Was Alyssa nuts?

There seemed to be a case. She jumped up, flailing her legs wildly in the air and slapping herself in the face. Her body was dripping from head to toe, obviously from dousing herself just before entering the ring, but why? Neve may have cared, but the crowd didn't as they enjoyed the sight of Alyssa's body hugging tightly against her nearly transparent white cotton top. The fabric barely made its way over her full, tanned breasts and was strapped over her shoulders by no more than a 1/4 inch of material. Her soaking white bikini bottom left nothing to the imagination, as the darkness of her pussy hair showed in a most distinctive manner that indeed, Alyssa was well groomed. The same could not be said of the long strands of dark brown that hung over her face, dripping onto the mat. She whipped her neck back flinging the hair out of her face and spraying the first two rows with moisture.

While Alyssa seemed almost hysterical for the match to begin, Neve hopped in place, the picture of quiet intensity, her oversized Toronto Maple Leafs sweater catching then releasing air as she bobbed up and down; her legs and feet, smooth and bare. Feeling sufficiently warmed up, she grabbed hold of the garment at the blue lettering stitched under the back neckline, D-O-M-I, the letters meant nothing to nearly the entire crowd. They didn't have to; Neve knew what they meant. She yanked the sweater off over her head and tossed it into the throng, leaving her scantily attired in the home colors of her country. Neve wore a red sports bra that hugged her pert, athletic breasts tightly - her erect nipples driving hard against the lycra. The bra was adorned with a white heart shape in its center that matched a white maple leaf on Neve's high-cut, red bicycle shorts, the material so tight it seemed to be painted on Neve's muscular thighs. The leaf - not surprisingly - was placed in a position that suggested Neve as the Eve of the Great White North.

As the bell sounded, Alyssa and Neve strode firmly toward each other, meeting in the center of the ring, Alyssa still jawing.

"Look whore, I don't know what you're trying to say with that outfit, but God, next time get laryngitis."

She landed a knifehand chop to Neve's throat that resounded throughout the building, a few of the more inebriated fans letting loose with a "WOOOO!" Neve grimaced and grabbed at her neck, already a nasty red welt rising to the surface. She stepped back into Alyssa's face and when Milano cocked her elbow for a repeat performance, Neve ducked underneath surrounding her waist with both arms. Neve elevated Alyssa and carrying her backwards, rammed her into the turnbuckle, a punishing daily double as Alyssa first took a backbreaking shot to the lower spine and a split-second later was doubled over by Neve's shoulderblade rushing into her unprotected tummy.

Alyssa sat on the middle turnbuckle desperately sucking in air, her head down around her knees. Neve cupped her hand underneath Alyssa's chin lifting her sight to meet Neve's broad smile. "Don't hear your mouth now," she said coolly. Removing her hand from Alyssa's chin, she wrapped her arm around the back of Alyssa's neck and after bringing her to her feet launched forward a few steps then down, landing with a smack; her taut, rounded ass bouncing off the canvas and alas, Alyssa's forehead doing the same. Alyssa now lay face first against the mat, drool collecting in a little pool next to her mouth, her arms - palms up - at her sides, the mat dampened from her dripping clothing and skin. Neve struggled to get Alyssa to her feet with little help from the semi-conscious beauty. Losing her grip, Alyssa fell away and into the ropes grabbing the top one with both hands as she gazed blankly into the crowd.

Neve closed deliberately and clutching Alyssa around the waist tried to pull her away, but the Charmed One was locked on tight, her elbows hooked around the cables. As Neve tugged harder she began to slide down Alyssa's moistened skin finally finding a sturdy handhold at her ankles. Alyssa was in desperate straits. She was stretched to the limit, Neve in the middle of the ring, still yanking at her feet. She had only a tenuous grip on the ropes, her fingers dangerously close to opening under the pressure. For a moment, Neve left her victim hanging with nowhere to go, but wherever Neve deemed her to. And with one final pull, Alyssa fell to the mat, her chin slamming hard against the canvas.

But the Canuck was far from done, still standing in the middle of the ring, she began to spin in place counterclockwise bringing Alyssa along for the dizzying ride. As the centrifugal force grew, Alyssa soon found herself spinning in orbit around her current center of the universe, Neve. But the force was also working Neve's grip loose and within a few seconds Alyssa flew out of her hands, first smashing, then skidding along the canvas leaving a moist, snail-like trail behind her.

Alyssa groaned deeply as she rose to all fours, Neve quickly climbing aboard, riding her like a prize filly. From behind, Neve again forced Alyssa to her feet - her body wavering in Neve's arms - barely staying upright.

"It's nighty-night for my little Lissie," Neve whispered impishly in her ear, as she slapped her arms into place.

Just then a shot of pain raced through her system. Neve released her embrace, her legs bowing in an upside-down 'V', her face contorted. A lightning bolt of a mule kick by Alyssa had struck paydirt and while clearing her cobwebs she turned and surveyed what she had wrought. Neve's eyes welled, finally a single tear escaping, the only sound she could manage was an odd chirping, a sort of high-pitched staccato. She covered her leaf reflexively, massaging it gingerly, but she could see what was to come.

Alyssa moved in close to the frozen Canadian, standing face to face, their noses touching, her warm breath caressing Neve's tear-stained face. She hugged her gently, silently and with absolutely no emotion rammed her knee up into Neve's already swollen pussy. Their eyes remained locked inches away from each other, though while Alyssa's pierced, Neve's now turned glassy, her face turning ashen. And yet, she stood. Alyssa took a step away in amazement.

"Damn bitch, you've got iron balls, or lips, or whatever."

Then noticing a tremor rumbling through both of Neve's calves, Alyssa stepped forward and pushed her to the mat with an extended index finger.

"That's one powerful finger," she said laughing, "course you might just find out how much a little later."

Alyssa dropped down to a straddle over Neve, who was hyperventilating from the pain that emanated from her wracked crotch, the anguish crashing like waves across her body. Neve's rapid breathing and moaning combined to mimic the sound of a whimpering puppy.

"Shut up, bitch," Alyssa screamed, hurling rights and lefts into Neve's poorly defended bosom.

Tiring of simply battering her tits, Alyssa worked at freeing Neve's bounty and providing her own form of mutiny, but the sports bra seemed to be glued into place, a sort of chastity belt for the chest.

Soon exasperated, Alyssa's attention span reached an end and she slid her ass up over Neve's throbbing speed bumps, positioning Neve's chin squarely between her knees. She rotated for a reverse facesit - her personal favorite - after all what was a facesit if you couldn't watch your opponent's body struggle and surrender, your sublime butt cheeks essentially controlling every inch of your victim.

Alyssa licked her lips. And as the thought passionately caressed her mind, it also caused her mind to wander; not much, but enough for Neve's arms to break free just as Alyssa wriggled into place. Pushing against Alyssa's knees, Neve rolled her back and off, scrambling away, but like a jungle cat Alyssa leapt atop Neve's back and sunk in her nails, raking them down across her back, leaving nasty red welts across her skin and runs in the red spandex of her bra.

Neve screamed as Alyssa ran her ruby claws down her back again, but throughout the torture she struggled to her feet, Alyssa still connected like a bronc rider unwilling to give up the ride. Finally, Neve forced her hand. Finding a corner, she backed into it, sandwiching Alyssa in between. Again and again, she fell against the corner, each time Alyssa grunting on impact; her enormous exhales blowing hot against Neve's neck. After the sixth or seventh such battering, Neve felt Alyssa melt off her and remain in the corner.

Turning, she grabbed Alyssa by an arm and threw her brusquely to the middle of the mat, her only movement the light heaving of her majestic mammaries, as the incredible pace of the struggle had left Alyssa breathless. Neve rolled down to the mat behind her, seizing Alyssa's head with her hands she positioned it between her exquisite, powerful thighs - taut as steel bands through may grueling years of ballet. Once in the reverse head scissors, Neve slipped her left leg across Alyssa's neck for a figure-4 adding another level of pressure that Alyssa, at this point, did not think possible.

As Alyssa's head turned a bright crimson, her mind flew into a panic, she could feel herself slipping away and there was no telling what would happen after that. If the previous matches were any indication, she was in for some intense humiliation and who would pass up the chance with her luscious body. She twisted her head back and forth wildly, her slippery coating providing a few inches of maneuvering room, perhaps enough to escape.

Alyssa swiveled her head and to the right and bit deeply into Neve's sleek, alabaster thigh. She shrieked in horror, as her legs instinctively straightened, allowing Alyssa - having disengaged her pearly whites - to escape. Neve examined her leg. The skin had been broken, but not as badly as the pain led her to believe. Then from her chest and belly, more nerve endings firing as Alyssa stomped away, first with little behind the blows, but progressively packing more punch. Having battered Neve into little more than a grease spot, Alyssa staggered over to the corner to catch her breath. After a few seconds, she looked up in disbelief; Neve was yet again fighting to her feet. Alyssa stood in the corner shaking her head.

"Impossible," she muttered to herself.

But along with the disappointment, a surge of adrenaline shot through her body; finish the job, she thought. Alyssa bounded over to Neve from behind and sliding her fingers underneath the lycra pants yanked in and up, the already tight spandex ripping into Neve's cunt, her muscular glutes excruciatingly divided by the distorted garment. Neve raised to her tip-toes relieving as much pressure as possible, but Alyssa responded by pulling higher still, until even the emblem of her country disappeared beneath the lovely brunette's pubic mound.

Reaching a point where the fabric would stretch no more, Alyssa released her hold. The material had been extended too far to simply snap back into place and as Neve fell to the mat, she delicately plucked at her shorts, prying them out from both her lips and ass cheeks, the maple leaf reappearing somewhat worse for its journey.

But as Neve removed the offending garment from her lower orifices, Alyssa was upon her again. This time forcing her to the corner, Neve walking as if she had been riding a horse 12 hours straight. Alyssa turned Neve forward and bashed the back of her head against the turnbuckle. She picked up one of Neve's legs by her delectable thigh and placed it over the middle rope, doing likewise with the other, leaving Neve hanging, her legs spread wide. Neve weakly tried to jimmy herself loose, but her efforts were fruitless. The position offered her some temporary relief, as her shorts swung loosely below her crotch, but she knew...she knew.

Alyssa was already in the opposite corner and as she ran forward, Neve closed her eyes, her lids forced back open by the incredible shockwave of pain that enveloped her as Alyssa delivered a punt to the pussy that had 15 to 20 feet of momentum behind it. After letting loose with an ear-shattering wail, her chin slumped to her chest, Neve physically spent.

Alyssa hardly cared. She lifted Neve's head to look in her chestnut eyes. They were open, but Alyssa could tell Neve no longer had any idea of her surroundings. She released Neve and once again her head fell forward, bobbing a couple of times before coming to rest.

"How about a few more for fun, hon?" Alyssa asked, turning to make her way to the other corner.

Alyssa caught only a blur of movement before she felt the back of her head slam against the mat, the impact met with a sickening thud. As Alyssa fought to remain alert despite the beckoning call of her exhaustion and throbbing head, a figure stood above her.

The woman appeared to be Asian, lean, but athletic; long black hair framing her soft, golden features. In her bleary-eyed state, Alyssa was unable to recognize Lucy Liu. The Fox starlet from Ally McBeal, though not on the roster, had attended the match and seen enough. Climbing through the ropes in her black mini-, she had flattened Milano with a clothesline and now followed it by dropping a knee across Alyssa's neck, the brunette making an odd gurgling noise as she rolled frantically back and forth clutching at her throat.

Lucy dashed over to Neve releasing her from her predicament. She brought Neve around quickly and within moments Lucy was helping a severely limping Neve over to Alyssa - still slowly writhing on the mat. As they approached, the referee intervened, demanding Lucy leave the ring, but still he had yet to call the match. Lucy and Neve saw this as an open invitation to continue.

Sitting down on opposite sides of Alyssa's legs, each grabbed one of Alyssa's tanned, slinky gams and while Alyssa howled for help or mercy - whatever had a chance of coming - the two proceeded to make a wish, pulling her legs as wide as they would go. Alyssa pleaded in vain between sobs, as Lucy and Neve got to their feet only to fall away from each other still hanging on to Alyssa's ankles, the crowd gasping at the sight. Lucy and Neve arose and embraced, Neve still depending on Lucy for some of her balance.

Meanwhile, Alyssa rolled on the mat grasping at her inner thighs, tears streaming and mixing with the sweat and water that coated her body. For some reason, the ref had let the match continue and Lucy and Neve stared down at the helpless Alyssa with victory well within their reach.

Fortunately for Alyssa, the cavalry had arrived.

Holly Marie Combs and Shannen Doherty rolled discreetly into the ring behind the two Fox lovelies with Holly Marie jumping aboard Lucy's back and locking on a tight choke, while Shannen dispatched the still-tender Neve with an atomic drop that almost split her in two up the middle. Shannen let Neve roll off her knee and to the mat, the Canadian crippled. Then - seeing that the ref had finally called the match and it was no use keeping her around - threw her between the ropes to the arena floor. The concern over winning and losing gone, Shannen immediately turned her thoughts to destroying the person who had clearly cost Alyssa the match.

Holly Marie, in a white button-down shirt and jeans, had withstood Lucy's wild bucking, hanging on like a pit bull, bringing Lucy to her knees. After helping Alyssa to her feet and scanning the crowd for any other FOX mischief makers, Shannen - looking devilishly divine in a skin-tight, black strapless top and leather skirt - sauntered over, Alyssa trailing behind.

Holly released her choke and grabbed both of Lucy's arms, pinning them behind her as she pulled Lucy to her feet. The slender Asian struggled madly in the grip, unable to escape, her eyes incapable of betraying the terror she felt as Shannen and Alyssa closed in for the kill.

Frozen as much from fear as Holly's grasp, Lucy watched intently as Shannen almost daintily slipped her fingers underneath Lucy's mini and pulled it up to her waistline displaying to the world that Lucy enjoyed walking the earth unfettered. As Shannen gestured to Lucy's crotch like a model on the 'Price is Right', Alyssa put in the opening bid with a barefoot boot between Lucy's legs.

She slumped in Holly's arms, wailing and pleading to no avail. The three would-be witches closed in firmly around Lucy, their hard bodies leaning against her tawny skin, Shannen having summarily stripped her of the dress, as Holly held her arms upright.

The women now swung their arms around each other and encased the hysterical Lucy in a sweaty, human sarcophagus, using each other as leverage to crush the slinky, sexy Asian between them. After a minute or so, the screams slowly descended - softer and lower - until only moans emanated from what was left of Lucy.

However, Holly - having shifted to the front of the press - also seemed to be contributing to the low rumblings. The threatening threesome, feeling only the slightest movement between them, stepped back upon Shannen's signal and let Lucy fall limply to the mat, her body free of any attire, save a pair of two-inch black heels that had somehow remained in place. Lucy lay gasping on the mat, running her legs like damaged pistons, trying to push her way off the mat and - presumably - to safety.

"No, no, no," said Shannen, smiling widely, shaking her head. "Confucius say, you not done yet."

And she grabbed Lucy by the ankles dragging her back to the middle of the mat. Shannen jumped high above the spread-eagled Lucy coming down hard across her breadbasket, quickly putting to an end her bothersome habit of trying to escape, leaving her proverbial "beaches" ready for mass invasion. Holly, Alyssa, and Shannen each took a station alongside the golden body; Alyssa at her slowly heaving breasts; Holly, at her ripe and sculptured belly; and Shannen at her finely-groomed charcoal bush. With Holly and Alyssa mere inches from applying claw holds to their appointed territory, Shannen yelled out as if giving orders.

"WAIT FOR IT."

Smiling at her cohorts, they all shared a huge laugh and dug in with both hands. Lucy was overwhelmed within seconds from the sheer sensory overload of pain, as the three made her body their own little plaything, grinding their fingers deeply into her flesh. With Lucy's comprehension soon gone, interest quickly waned and Alyssa brought her back with a couple of stern slaps to the cheek.

Shannen motioned the three together and began whispering, smiles blossoming across all their faces. They turned back to Lucy - now aware, but completely debilitated. Shannen also stole a quick glimpse over at Neve, only now showing any signs of life, besides that of massaging her aching cunt.

Shannen descended on Lucy, straddling her mound, while Holly rested atop her breasts. Slowly, rhythmically they ground back and forth in tandem, lowering into Lucy's body as they shifted their pelvis forward. Alyssa kneeled next to her head waiting, the dessert to Holly and Shannen's main course. She watched as Lucy bit her lip and struggled to contain herself, but as the thrusting became more intense, Lucy was overwhelmed and with an enormous sigh, exploded all over Shannen's skirt.

"Damn girl, that cost me 250 dollars."

Still Shannen considered it a deal with the payback they had dished out, and continued to ride.

With their goal of humiliation accomplished, Lucy's consciousness was no longer deemed necessary. Alyssa mounted Lucy's face, sliding back and forth, feeling every soft contour through the small patch of fabric separating them. Within seconds, she checked Lucy's arm - the ref having left the ring, but not the vicinity, as he watched in fascination with the rest of the crowd. She was gone; there was no doubt. Alyssa and Shannen dismounted, Doherty wiping some of Lucy's discharge off of her. Holly continued on for several more seconds until a look of immense satisfaction overcame her.

"Ooops, I think I wet'em," she said with a giggle.

Suddenly her face became deadly serious as she pointed to the aisle and the onrushing trio of Jennifer Love Hewitt, Lacey Chabert, and Tori Spelling - only slightly behind them, an obviously steamed Gillian Anderson. Holly, Alyssa, and Shannen feeling there was little left to prove, scrambled out the other side of the ring and made their way triumphantly backstage. Love and Lacey assisted Neve as Tori and Gillian checked over what was left of Lucy, Tori frantically calling for a blanket.

Outside the ring, the referee snatched a microphone and announced to those assembled that the match was a double disqualification and that both Neve and Alyssa were eliminated from the tournament. The crowd exploded, raining boos, as well as beer cans and other assorted garbage onto the hapless zebra. Suddenly, a disembodied voice came over the PA.

"As all of you seemed to enjoy tonight's extravaganza, it's obvious we'll simply have to allow these two ladies to continue."

The crowd roared its approval.

"Neve and Alyssa will both be moving on to the second round, so once again you will be able to enjoy their...uhh...talents. That is all."

WB-3 FOX-3 with 1 double-DQ.

First round finale (and a chance to be 1 up in the next round). WB's former "Fox-y" lady Shannen Doherty vs. ex-cast member (and daddy's little girl) Tori Spelling.